The Ice Car-Pades

Navigating the hairpin turns and snowy speed bumps at a driving school for winter-wheel warriors

ENLARGE

SNOW CONES | A twist in the track at Colorado's Bridgestone Winter Driving School
Bridgestone Winter Driving School

By

Alissa Johnson

Dec. 14, 2012 5:14 p.m. ET

WHEN I WAS 16, my dad threatened to take me out on a frozen lake and "really teach me to drive." We lived in Minnesota, on top of a large and often icy hill, and he said he didn't want to see the family car stuck in a snowbank at the bottom. I left home before he was able to finish off my driver's education, but 17 years later, I found myself in an SUV, queued up with four others, waiting my turn to practice driving through a maze of snow banks and ice.

I had enrolled in an ice driving class at Bridgestone Winter Driving School in Colorado, whose track is built on ranchland eight miles from Steamboat Ski Resort. Unlike most winter driving schools, Bridgestone foregoes frozen lakes for ice- and snow-covered courses to mimic winter driving conditions. Over the past three decades, more than 80,000 people have tackled winter driving at Bridgestone. Presumably, so could I.

ENLARGE

SUVs in wait
Bridgestone Winter Driving School

I live in a Colorado mountain town and drive a low-clearance, front-wheel-drive hatchback with all-season tires. The night before my class, heading down a slick road, my car slid to the left. I turned the wheel right, but the car kept going left. I turned the wheel more, then I slipped right. Snow banks loomed through dusky light; in my panic, I let go of the steering wheel. It unwound and, miraculously, the tires gained traction. I took hold of the wheel and eased my foot onto the gas. My heart still beating hard, I wondered what I should have done. I could only hope ice driving school would teach me.

The following day, I was introduced to instructors who looked like normal people but had secret lives as rally car drivers and professional racers. Everything made sense in the classroom when our instructor,
Lea Croteau,
drew diagrams on the white board: what to do when the car doesn't respond, easing the car out of a skid, avoiding a crash.

ENLARGE

A vehicle pushes through the snow.
Bridgestone Winter Driving School

It got a little trickier out on the course, where we were told to drive in tight circles on icy hills without spinning out. Muscle memory took over and I drove like I always had. Instead of recovering from a skid, I braked and skidded more. After four hours practicing the new techniques, all I'd nailed was pumping the brakes to come to a stop on icy roads.

My next task was to steer around a line of orange cones without braking. The car ahead of me sneaked up on the cones and swerved right, then left and smoothly around a turn at the bottom of the hill. I inched toward the starting line. "Alissa, you're up," said Ms. Croteau.

The Lowdown: Bridgestone Winter Driving School

Getting There: Steamboat Springs, Colo., is located about 3½ hours by car from Denver. The Yampa Valley Regional Airport, a half-hour drive away, offers direct service from cities including Newark and Houston.

Staying There: Classes meet at the Steamboat Grand Hotel, with shuttle service to the track. After class, head over to the illuminated Ice Castle, a local attraction made from thousands of icicles.

Learning There: Bridgestone offers daily classes between mid-December and early March, with the exception of Christmas Day. Anyone with a driver's permit or license can sign up, no matter their age. From $480 for a daylong class, winterdrive.com

She watched from the bottom of the track, where she was seated in her own car and giving instructions over a two-way radio. Our group of 10 had been split up into five pairs. My partner was a teenager in aviator glasses. I'd initially feared he was too young and would drive fast. We worked well together, taking turns behind the wheel. At our teacher's cue, I accelerated to 25 miles per hour, which felt much faster on down-sloping ice. I stepped off the gas and turned the wheel to the right, then left. I skirted the cones but the car tried to do a 180. We slid downhill sideways. I felt stuck in slow-motion, unable to respond.

The instructor's voice told me how to regain control, but I couldn't focus on her words—I was too busy looking at her car, and hoping I didn't hit it. I braked when I should have accelerated, just missing the vehicle and sliding into a second row of orange cones before coming to a stop.

My next try was better. Ms. Croteau coached me to let the steering wheel go back to center after I cleared the orange cones. The car gained traction without spinning out, and I accelerated to maneuver around the turn. "You don't have to wait for the car to find traction," she said. "You can step on the gas to help the wheels stick sooner."

After a few tries, I almost had it down. I was not ready to quit when it was Mr. Aviator's turn. I climbed into the passenger seat, my brain fuzzy from all the new information, and wondered: Am I a better driver now?

At the end of the day, the instructors let the entire class drive the course at once. Mr. Aviator and I traded the SUV for a front-wheel-drive sedan similar to my own car. I drove first, slowing to 15 mph at the turns. My partner directed me to go faster.

I let go of my hesitation. Suddenly everything clicked. I kept the speedometer near 20 and 25 on turns, hit 45 on straightaways and didn't worry about spinning out. The wheels humming over snow and ice, I smiled. My dad never told me winter driving could be such fun.

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